gravity wins
by notwithhaste
Summary: 8x06 tag/prediction fic - Donna in her pink gala dress; Harvey in his eternal Donna mood ** She's standing there in a pink gown that looks like something he really wants to take off. He bites the inside of his lip. It's been getting harder and harder to suppress these thoughts. These, and other thoughts; the kind that involve making her laugh and bringing her to Boston and forever.


**A/N:** For Jen and Laura, who wanted 8x06 to have Harvey seeing Donna in that gown; throwback to that time Harvey called Jessica beautiful and we all felt bad for Donna; elevators; mature rating; and Donna and Harvey hooking up (that last one I kinda presumed, but it's probably a fair guess). And so this happened. I'm sure it will be rendered pointless and very much AU come Wednesday - hooray! - but hey ho.

Thank you to Blue for her time and encouragement.

Hope you enjoy! :) Let me know.

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Closing his laptop, Harvey rubs his eyes and stands up. It's late and it's been a day and he is ready to call it. Exiting his office, he walks towards the elevators, stopping in front of the letters on the wall. Specter and Litt, side by side. He shakes his head. Who'd have thought so many years ago that they'd be named partners together. That they'd be having therapy together, for god's sake. That Harvey would care enough to even entertain it, let alone indulge it. It's ridiculous, but he feels almost a sense of pride and something else. Something that's been absent since Mike left. A fondness, a camaraderie, and those are words he never thought he'd associate with Louis Litt, but there it is. It's not unwelcome and he wonders if that means he's all grown up now.

"You know," he hears her voice behind him; his smile grows. "You'd think it'd get old by now, but it doesn't, does it."

He huffs his agreement, "It sure doesn't." He turns around to look at her and, "Wow." She's standing there in a pink gown that looks like something he really wants to take off. He bites the inside of his lip. It's been getting harder and harder to suppress these thoughts. These, and other thoughts; the kind that involve making her laugh and bringing her to Boston and forever. He's a goddamn fool, is what he is, because the next line out of him is a quip, "A little overdressed for the office?"

"I came straight from the gala, just getting some paperwork to take home. The good work of the COO and the _real_ managing partner never stops."

"Don't let Zane hear you say that."

Donna waves it off, "Oh, he knows."

That makes him chuckle, "I'm sure he does." She doesn't seem disappointed by his flippancy earlier, but he finds he is. Finds that he wants her to know. "Well you look," he trails off, his mind going blank. He'd wonder what's wrong with him if he didn't already have an idea.

When he doesn't continue, she raises her eyebrow to prompt him, "Beautiful?"

Harvey shakes his head, "No." She narrows her eyes, and he takes a step forward, ducking his head, looking up. "Devastating."

She makes light of it, like he knew she would. "That sounds like a line."

"I've never used a line on you, Donna."

She laughs, "Now _that_ is a lie."

He smiles back, plays along. "Maybe once or twice, way back when you were still susceptible to my charms."

"That was never the case."

"Now who's lying?" He wiggles his eyebrows, "I think I remember one event in particular that speaks to the contrary."

"Twelve and a half years ago?" she looks at him pointedly.

"Give or take a day."

"You _think_ you remember it?"

He leans in, just enough to make her squirm, "Vividly."

She catches his eye and they stay like that for a beat, two. Her eyes roam his face, and he can see she's trying to figure him out, figure this out, and he really wishes she would. The flirting and the banter are all fun, but it's also been leaving him feeling off kilter. He thought she'd push him by now, try and get to the bottom of this, whatever the hell this is that's been going on between them. But she hasn't, not even a little bit, and it's making him restless. Making him want to stop thinking and make the first move, and he's not very good at making the first move. Not when the stakes are so goddamn high. Her eyes land briefly on his lips and that feels promising, but then they quickly shoot up to meet his again.

She blinks and the moment is gone. "As fun as it is to reminisce," she moves toward the elevator and presses the button to call it. "It's been a long day and I'm beat." She turns to him, "You going home or…?"

"I guess I am." There's no bite to his words, but she detects something because she shoots him a look. Resignation, possibly; but probably disappointment. He feels like lately he's been showing her all his cards while she's been playing hers close to her chest. Just a peek would be nice.

They enter the elevator together, her first then him, and he presses the button for the lobby.

"Had fun tonight?"

"Yeah," she decides, smiling. "Yeah, I did."

"Good."

"You? Good day?"

"Oh, you know, me, Louis and his shrink. No place I'd rather be."

"You're a good friend, Harvey," she smiles at him and he feels absurd for basking in it. He shrugs and the motion makes the backs of his fingers brush against hers. She looks away and he knows she noticed it. He looks up at the numbers; they're halfway down. He really wants to do it again. His fingers are restless at his side.

Twenty one.

Twenty.

He looks over at her not looking at him, and there truly is no better word; she really is beautiful. Looking down her dress – she doesn't wear pink often; she should – he notices her own hand fidgeting. Holding his breath, he thinks fuck it, and brushes his pinky finger across hers. He hears her react, hears her breath hitch, feels her little finger move against his skin, a touch so slight he'd miss it if his entire focus wasn't on that small space between them.

Sixteen.

Fifteen.

He gives his hand a stretch in preparation.

Fourteen.

What's the worst that could happen? They've held hands before.

Thirteen.

Tracing his fingers slowly down her palm, he winds them between hers, loose enough that she can extract them easily if she wants to. He watches for her reaction out of the corner of his eye. She closes her eyes. Her hand stays in his.

Ten.

Nine.

"Harvey." She sounds quiet. Breathless. He swallows. "What are we doing?"

He tucks his thumb between their hands and brushes it over her palm. "We're holding hands, Donna."

Six.

She bows her head, whispers, "Why?" Her voice falters, but her fingers tighten around his, and it's encouraging.

The truth rolls off his tongue easily, "Because I want to hold your hand."

Three.

Two.

"You look beautiful, Donna." One. "And that's not a line."

The elevator doors open in the lobby and their fingers slip apart. He gets out first, but his pace is slow enough for her to catch up, to give an inch, to force a conversation. There's a tried and tested formula to their interaction – he does something impulsive, she calls him out on it, he backtracks. Except now, he wants to be called on it, he wouldn't backtrack, he wants to have this fucking conversation, finally.

Reaching the glass door, he turns around. She's standing in the middle of the lobby, staring at him. Not following. He wonders if his elusiveness has finally worn her down. If she's given up on trying. He wants to walk back, but some habits are too hard to break. He gives her a small nod and makes his exit.

.

He paces his apartment for the next hour. Fixes himself a drink, sits at the breakfast bar, fixes himself another, sits on the couch. He realizes halfway through his second drink that what he's actually doing is waiting for her to knock on his door. By the time he's finished it, he knows it's not coming. Harvey gets up as it becomes clear to him she's not initiating anything this time. Which means if he wants her, if he really wants this, it's going to have to be him. It's unnatural and counterintuitive and just plain goddamn difficult. He grabs his suit jacket anyway. He really _really_ wants this.

He shows up at her door and she's changed into grey yoga pants and a white tank top, took her make-up off, and all he can think is that the dress was amazing, but it's this, this is how he wants to see her.

"Our lines are blurry," he says without preamble as soon as she opens the door. "We smile, we drink, we flirt. That's what you said, right?"

"Right?" She's frowning at him in confusion, but he knows her too damn well and he knows she understands where he's going with this. It's frustrating, this play-pretend they got going on.

"It's not working for me anymore, Donna." He can see her swallow, see the anticipation mixed with worry and it makes him want to back down, look away, leave. But he's done that before and it hasn't worked out all that well for them, so he holds her gaze and his ground, and his voice is sure when he adds, "I want more."

Her lips are a tight line as she cocks her head to one side, her face soft and he hopes to god it's not because she's feeling sorry for him. Harvey wonders if he's misread her, miscalculated, if he's projected his own feelings onto her. He hasn't been able to read her in months, if he's honest, and it bugs the hell out of him. She kisses him then takes it back. He ends his relationship to keep her in his life and she ignores the significance. They revert to their dynamic from years ago, before impulsive admissions of love and things left unsaid, only with more late night drinks and a hell of a lot more flirting. She presses her nose and her lips against his jaw as they slow dance at Mike's wedding then bids him goodnight just as he's about to ask her to go somewhere quiet.

It has him off balance. It has him at her door, admitting things.

"Harvey," she starts and his heart is in his throat. "Are you sure this is a good idea. Things have been really good –"

"Bullshit," he interrupts; he really is so fucking tired of this. "Things have been vague and unresolved, like they've always been, and I can't believe I'm the one addressing it." He's well aware he sounds accusatory and maybe it's on purpose. Maybe he wants to push her.

She pushes back. "You cannot be serious." She wants to be louder, he can tell, but she's mindful of the neighbors. "I did address it. I addressed it after you told me you loved me then made it sound like it's a consolation prize. I addressed it by going to work for Louis and I addressed it when I kissed you –"

"You said you didn't feel anything."

"Of course I felt something!" And now her voice _is_ raised. "God, you can be such an idiot sometimes." She looks down the corridor behind him, considers her options. "I'm not having this conversation here. Just. Get inside."

Harvey follows her in, unsure if this is a good sign, but he's hopeful. He can't remember the last time he felt hopeful. She shuts the door and leans back against it, her hand on her forehead. "You're impossible."

He's definitely hopeful. "You were saying?"

She rolls her eyes, but then turns serious. "I mean it, Harvey. What _are_ we doing?" she repeats the question from earlier that night. It doesn't feel as rhetorical now, and he's glad. He's after answers himself.

"That's what I came here to find out."

"I can't believe you're looking to define things. You! Of all people."

"First time for everything," he sighs. "I guess I'm tired of not knowing, too."

"Is this about your brother?"

"What?"

She ignores him in favor of her next guess, "Is it about today?" Harvey frowns, so she clarifies, "The therapy, with Louis."

"No, Donna." And yes, both made him pause and take stock, and he guesses they might have been catalysts of sorts, but the truth is this is about so much more than that. "It's about the last thirteen years." He takes a step closer, his voice low, "The next thirteen years." He bites into his bottom lip as he comes to stand in front of her, his hand brushing her hair. It's a barely-there touch, but she looks in pain. He hates that. He's been doing so well at making her smile. "You wanna know if I'm sure this is a good idea? I am. I'm scared shitless, Donna, I'm fucking petrified, and I'm still sure," he shrugs, resigned. "I'm so tired of wanting you and denying it."

"So this is about sex?" she asks, but it carries no weight. Harvey recognizes it for what it is – a half-assed last-ditch attempt to stall this.

"You know it's not." His fingers thread in her hair, press behind her ear, his thumb on her cheek. She looks terrified herself, and that's about right. It's a big fucking deal, after all. "You know I love you, Donna."

And this time he leans in and kisses her, right there against her front door. His lips brush hers, nothing but a touch, an opening, a first move. He can feel her lips part in a soft sigh and he slowly drags his mouth over hers, left to right, just feeling her against his skin. He's feeling everything.

He opens his eyes, waits for her to do the same. After all these years, he still takes his cues from her. She looks at him like she knows exactly how he meant it - then and now, and it hasn't changed; he's just less confused than he used to be – and he figures she's not kicking him out. When she inclines her head a certain way, bites her lip; when she stands on her toes and brings her lips half an inch from his own, Harvey follows her lead and kisses her again.

She moans into his mouth immediately, her fingers trailing across his chest and up until she's curling them around the back of his neck. He can feel her nails just barely scratching the hairs at the nape and he's gone. His mouth opens and he presses into her as her lips part to let his tongue in, the hand in his hair possessive now which he finds appropriate; she's had him for a long time. He groans when she sucks his bottom lip, bends at the knees a little, just enough to rub against her center on his way up, bring her with him, her leg hitching, giving him room to do it again.

His left hand hooks blindly under her thigh, hoisting it up, pinning her to the door with his crotch. She gasps into his mouth, "That didn't take long." When he doesn't follow, she reaches down and brushes against his erection. "It was the dress, wasn't it."

"It was you," he kisses under her ear.

"You really need to stop using your lines on me."

He pulls back, grinning, "I don't see why when they seem to work so well." She looks unamused and he shrugs, "We're making out against your door. Just like old times."

"I don't have any whipped cream."

"Strawberries?"

"Nope."

He runs his thumb under her bottom lip, over her jaw, his fingers landing on her neck. "I guess you'll have to do."

She's about to say something teasing back, but stops before the words leave her mouth, changes her mind. "Are we really doing this?"

His voice is low and there's no hesitation, "All in."

She takes a deep breath, nods. "All in."

He smiles and she does the same, and this is happening. At long fucking last. He kisses her, hard, one hand cupping her jaw, the other moving around her waist, and he's spinning her around and walking her back. She's pushing off his jacket and undoing his tie with record speed as they bump into furniture and walls. She mutters, "Never mind," against his lips when he knocks something over on the way to her bedroom. Grabbing her ass, he picks her up at her bedroom door, and she wraps her legs around his waist. "You can still do that," he feels the vibrations of her voice as he kisses down her neck. "Pretty impressive for your age."

He pulls back, smirks, "Oh, there's more where that came from."

Both her hands are on the back of his head as he carries her over to the bed, "I'm ready to be wowed." He deposits her unceremoniously on the bed. She laughs and it's the best sound he's heard in twelve and a half years. "There's definitely room for improvement," she says as he unbuttons his shirt, takes it off. "I remember there being more wooing last time."

His shirt off, he lets it fall to the floor and climbs the bed and on top of her. "Last time," he starts. "It wasn't a sure thing."

"And it is now?"

He hovers above her, serious, "I sure as hell hope so."

She bites the inside of her cheek as she caresses the side of his face, "This is it for me, Harvey."

He closes his eyes; there will never be anyone who will know him the way Donna does. He looks down, his hand finding hers, their fingers entwining. "Good." He kisses her, once, twice, "Good."

They don't talk much after that. He runs his open mouth from her lips and over her chin, kisses his way down her neck. There's a spot, just above her clavicle, that he remembers to be sensitive. He runs his tongue along it, sucks, and is proven right when she moans, her hips thrusting up to meet his. He keeps his left hand in hers as he stills her hip with his right, running it up her top and over her belly until he's cupping her breast, and fuck. He hadn't forgotten, but his dick is still impressed with Donna's tits.

Pushing down her bra, his fingers tease her nipple until it's hard, until it's prominent through her top. He looks up as his mouth closes over it, sucking it through the thin material. She's looking down at him, watching him twirl his tongue around it, play with it between his lips, his teeth, and it's her who breaks the eye contact first, her head falling back on the bed, her fingers squeezing his.

Turning her on is the biggest fucking turn on he can think of.

Giving her nipple a final lick, he disentangles his hand from hers and pushes her top up, his mouth kissing over her belly, tracing her freckles all the way down to her pants, and they have got to go. Hooking his fingers inside, he pushes them down and she toes them off. She's wearing white lacy panties and he can see her pale skin through the small holes. He groans. He's almost reluctant to take them off. Almost. He's missed her, and it's been way too long.

His hands spread her and he can see she's ready. His cock twitches in his pants. "Just as I remember," he mumbles, running his lower lip up her clit.

"You remember an awful lot."

He looks up, "All of it." He doesn't let the moment linger; instead he places the tip of his tongue on her opening and flicks. Her hips buckle at the contact, and he holds her in place as he does it again. And again. Using more pressure, he licks up her clit and sucks until she's grinding into him and he's never been more turned on in his life. Her hands find his head and he's close to making her come, he can tell, but then she's pulling his hair and pulling him away.

"Harvey," she pushes off the bed, reaches for his belt. "Fuck. Now."

He smirks, "An eloquent turn of phrase."

She's grabbing his pants. "Shut up and fuck me, Harvey."

He won't argue with that.

She undoes his belt and he takes off her top and her bra, until he's sitting on his calves and she's kneeling in front of him, hooded eyes and swollen lips and fucking breathtaking. He reaches for her and she meets him halfway. She falls back down on the bed, taking him with her. His hand trails down her side, across her ribs and over her hip, until he reaches his cock, rubs it against her pussy.

"Is it okay? I mean, I'm clean."

She nods, "I'm on the pill."

He traces the tip over her, making her squirm. "Harvey," and it's a warning and a plea and an endearment, and he's been a goddamn idiot for years.

"Donna."

She looks up at him and he swallows down all the nonsense he wants to say to her; she knows it all anyway. He pushes inside her instead. Her palms travel up his shoulders to cup his jaw, her fingers digging into his neck. He starts to move. Slow at first, because she feels incredible, because he doesn't think he'll last as long as he'd like, and he's trying to get the angle right, knows he's succeeded when her mouth falls open, her face contorts. He hits the same spot again, presses down, hits her clit. She cries out, her hands grabbing his face, and he turns his head to his side, nuzzles into her palm, kisses down her wrist. She's making that sound again, and he doubles his efforts at making her come.

Fingers on his cheek, she turns his head to her. "Harvey," she sounds breathless, but she's stilling his hips. "You don't have to impress me."

He stares down at her, stunned. "I'm not," he trails off, frowning. Except, maybe he does. Maybe, he always has.

"Just," she moves her hand down his chest and over his side until she's stroking up and down his back. She angles her hips, and he slips deeper inside of her. "This is me, Harvey."

She's hugging him to her and he drops down on his elbows, his forehead resting on her temple. He breathes her in, his lips tasting her cheek, his hands in her hair. He starts to move and his thrusts aren't measured anymore, there's no finesse, no game plan, just her. She's wet and warm and everywhere, meeting him with every thrust. He reaches behind him, takes her hand in his and pins it down, their fingers and palms aligned, and it's everything he's ever avoided. It's everything he's ever wanted from her.

She turns her head and her mouth is on his, but they're not really kissing, their lips moving against each other as he makes her come around his cock. She squeezes his hand and muffles her cries in his neck, and he fucks her deeper as she rides it out. Lifting her legs and wrapping them around his waist, she changes the angle and his orgasm almost blindsides him. He groans into her hair as he comes inside her.

Afterwards, after they've cleaned up and got some water, after she doesn't kick him out so he decides he's staying, he's sitting up in her bed as she climbs next to him, all nightshirt and legs.

"So," she turns on the lamp. "Only the next thirteen years? That's all I'm getting?"

He frowns, then catches on. "I was being poignant," he huffs.

"I don't know," she throws her leg over his, sits across his lap. "Sounded pretty specific to me."

"Now you're just being difficult."

"How the tables have turned."

"I'm not," he grabs her hips to still her squirming. He feels like he needs his wits about him and she's making that… hard. Maybe he's not as grown up as he likes to think. "I'm not that difficult."

"I was your secretary for a very long time. You're exactly that difficult."

"You'll find bedroom Harvey much more agreeable."

She laughs at that. He enjoys the sound. Walking her fingers over his clavicle, she rests her hands on his shoulders, cocking her head. "What took us so long?"

She's not really expecting an answer but he provides one anyway. "I don't know about you, but I was just making sure you get the best possible version of me."

"Oh, that's good."

He runs his hands up and down her bare thighs, "I'm glad my lines still work on you."

She rolls her eyes, but she's smiling. It's an incredible sight. "Only because I love you." His hands still on her knees. She shakes her head at him fondly, "What? Does that surprise you?"

It shouldn't. It doesn't, not really. And yet. His hands move up her legs, pull at her waist bringing her closer. He could crack a joke. He doesn't. Bringing his face closer to hers, he shakes his head, "It makes me happy."

She smiles into the kiss, "Good."

"Good."

His arms envelope her back and he's pretty sure he could go for round two, when she breaks the kiss. "Wait," she says. "Tell me about your couples counseling."

"Donna," he warns.

"First Louis, then sex."

"That just sounds wrong," he groans, rubbing his eyes. "I can see bedroom Donna isn't as agreeable as workplace Donna."

She sits further back on his legs, grinning, "Oh, you have no idea."

Maybe not. But he can't fucking wait to find out.

.


End file.
